


crescendo

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Undercover Missions, my otp is also tim drake/dresses, my otp is jason/ballet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re just jealous you don’t have the hips for this dress.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> Because at some point Rachel and I decided that Jason loves the ballet and when Cass and Harper got to go to the ballet in Batman and Robin Eternal I was like I BET JASON IS SO JEALOUS. So this is like, their version of that. Sort of.
> 
> Also, Tim Drake in a dress.

“I just want it on record,” Jason says, sweeping his eyes up and down the length of Tim’s body. “That calling you princess all these years has obviously had some kind of psychological effect. I think this is what pride feels like.”

“You’re a riot,” Tim says dryly, looking in the mirror to put his earrings in, two dangly, sparkly things that, okay, kind of make his eyes pop. He purses his glossy lips at Jason’s reflection in the mirror before turning around. “You’re just jealous you don’t have the hips for this dress.”

“Those were the days,” Jason says, shooting Tim a wink when Tim’s eyes get a little wide at the implication. “Never as classy as this though,” He says, touching the necklace around Tim’s neck, smoothing his finger over the sapphire in the center. 

“Yeah well,” Tim clears his throat. “We’re going to the ballet. Do you remember your cover?”

“Baron Whatsit, from Worcestershire,” Jason says, just to watch that little vein pop out in the middle of Tim’s forehead. “Keep your panties on,” He sighs and rattles off the whole sheet Tim had printed out for him, including where the guy was born and what foods he’s allergic to. 

“Very good,” Tim says, like he’s praising an obedient dog and Jason would punch him if he wouldn’t have to spend an hour redoing his damn makeup. “And me?”

“Natalia Boromov, heiress to Illya Boromov, billionaire and arms dealer, and my fiance. Which, that reminds me.”

Jason digs around in his jacket pocket until he finds the ring he slipped off to grab earlier while Tim was shopping for dresses, grabs Tim’s hand in his and slips it on his finger. “Now we’re engaged,” he grins. “Mazel tov.”

“Did you _buy_ this?” Tim asks, staring at the rock on his finger like it’s going to explode or eat away his skin or something equally horrible.

“Well,” Jason drawls. “Not exactly. Let’s just say there are some seedier parts of Russia that work on the trade and barter system. You owe me a knife, by the way.”

“Great,” Tim says. “I’m wearing a blood diamond.”

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Jason smirks and ushers him out to the limo waiting for them, his hand warm against the small of Tim’s back.

 

: : :

 

“I don’t see him,” Tim says in a hushed tone. “He’s supposed to be in the balcony and I don’t spot him anywhere. _Jason._ ”

“Shh,” Jason says as the stage goes dark, a single spotlight bathing the prima ballerina in light. “This is the best part.”

The music had stopped abruptly when the lights went out, but as the ballerina unfolds herself it slowly, gently pours into the room, becoming louder and faster as she pirouettes and grande jetés across the stage, as if she’s controlling the tempo of the music with the fluid movements of her body. 

By the final scene, Jason’s eyelashes are damp and Tim is watching Jason instead of looking for the mark, unable to look away from the raw emotion on Jason’s face. Finally the curtains close and Tim goes back to scanning the balcony, sees Jason wiping his eyes out of the corner of his eye, and when the curtains open again for all the dancers to take a bow, Tim sees the red dot right in the center of the prima ballerina’s head just as Jason stands up and screams _GET DOWN_ and starts running toward the stage. 

“FIND HIM!” He shouts back at Tim and Tim doesn’t bother with responding, just jumps out of his seat and pushes and shoves his way through the panicked mass of people until he can get to the balcony.

“Apologies miss,” an usher says when he gets to a roped off, curtained area. “VIP area on --”

Tim puts him down with a nerve strike to the side of his neck and shoves him out of the way, only to be greeted by two other goons as soon as he flings open the curtain. They fight like KGB, calculated and brutal, and Tim’s in a pair of Jimmy Choos and a dress that rips up the side when he aims a high kick to one of the guy’s heads. 

There’s a shot and Tim looks down, panicked, but sees Jason usher the prima away from the stage just in time. He ends up taking a fist to the mouth for stealing a glance to make sure Jason was okay, sends that guy flying with a kick to the solar plexus and sweeps his leg under the other one coming at him, putting him on his ass.

“Alright,” Tim says, teeth stained red with blood as he hikes up the hem of his dress and pulls an escrima stick from the garter belts on each of his thighs, twisting them each counterclockwise until they spark with electricity. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

: : :

 

Jason finds Tim after he’s knocked them all out with his stun batons, steps over the bodies until he can grab Tim by his face and crush their mouths together, lick the blood off his teeth. 

“Jesus,” he says. “You did all this in four inch heels and a cocktail dress?”

“And nine hundred thousand volts of electricity,” Tim says, still out of breath from the fight.

“Can’t fucking believe you,” Jason mumbles against his mouth and grabs Tim by his arms and spins him around, pushes him up against the railing of the balcony and lifts his dress up. 

“Come on,” Tim says impatiently and reaches behind him to tug at Jason’s trousers, get the zipper down and get his hand around him.

“Fuck,” Jason hisses and pulls Tim’s tiny silk panties down, grabs Tim’s hand off of him and puts it on the railing, covering it with his own so he can rub his dick against Tim’s ass. “God, I want to fuck you like this,” he says in Tim’s ear. “Get our own box and bend you over the railing while all those nice classy rich fuckers watch the ballet.”

“Oh god,” Tim moans quietly and drops one of his hands to wrap it around himself, fucking his hand while Jason rubs off against him, the crease of his ass slick with Jason’s precome. 

To the right of them the guy with the sniper rifle starts to move and groan and Tim huffs, grabs one of his batons and twists it, sticking nine hundred volts into the guy’s ribs and just like that, Jason comes all over Tim’s ass. He buries his groan in between Tim’s shoulder blades and reaches around to get him off the rest of the way, turning Tim’s face to lick into his mouth when he feels him spill, warm and wet all over his hand, swallowing down each little whimper Tim makes for him as he shudders through it. 

“Gosh,” Jason says after he pulls Tim’s panties up and his dress down, collapsing into one of the cushy VIP chairs to lick the taste of Tim from his fingers. “I love the ballet.”


End file.
